California Convention
by chizry
Summary: COMPLETED. Sent to a convention for a week, they learn more about each other...and more about love. Sandle.
1. Tattoo Goo

**Title: **California Convention  
**Rating: **R  
**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to CSI and CBS.  
**A/N:** In response to a challenge:  
1. Greg and Sara are good friends. Greg has just passed his final competency test and is now a CSI.  
2. They are sent to a crime scene/training seminar/class/convention far away. As a result they are together for a week or more - and they have to share a hotel suite.  
3. They do a lot of talking and each of them privately begins to examine his/her changing feelings.  
4. How do things change when they return home?  
Must include: Truth or Dare, chocolate cheesecake, a hula hoop, one bottle of Jim Beam, a black silk thong  
Extra credit: the song "To The Moon and Back" by Savage Garden, a tin of Tattoo Goo, a fireplace, flip-flops, a blackout

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"Why does he always send me to these stupid conventions?" Sara Sidle fumed, tossing her suitcase roughly onto the small hotel bed.

Shrugging, Greg Sanders brought in the rest of the luggage and closed the door. "What's this one about?" he asked, handing her their crime kits.

"The latest forensic technology and methods," the brunette said, opening her kit and taking out the brochure that their supervisor had given them before they left.

"Only that for a week?" Greg asked incredulously. He read the paper, setting it down on the bedside table. "At least we're in Cali."

"Home sweet home," muttered Sara sarcastically.

Glancing at her in surprise, the spiky-haired CSI looked at her in curiosity but didn't say anything. Not knowing anything about her past, he just assumed she had had a happy childhood, just like he did in the Golden State.

In the awkward silence, he took the time to look around the hotel room. Along one wall were two queen-sized beds, dressed in dark-red comforters with matching sheets and pillows. With a large television standing on the opposite wall, his gaze turned to the electric-operated fireplace.

Watching as she opened up her bags, he picked up a tin of Tattoo Goo. "What the hell is this?" He turned it over and quirked an eyebrow. "Skincare for tattoos?"

She smirked, and grabbed the metal container from his hands. "Give that back."

Greg grinned. "So where is it, Sar?"

With an innocent smile, Sara's chocolate eyes twinkled. "Where is what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know."

"C'mon. Where's your tattoo?" he teased.

She shook her head again. "That's for me to know and you to figure out yourself."

Turning around to hang something up in the closet, she missed the shit-eating grin on Greg's face. Who was he to pass an offer like that?


	2. Jim Beam and Truth or Dare

**A/N: A**ny of the 'latest technology and techniques' are actually from the CSI book "Cold Burn". I'm not all that original with forensic science methods.And there's quite a lot of cursing, but that happens sometimes in this situation.

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The next night found the pair entering their hotel room, wiped out from the day's activities.

"At least it's not all notes and lectures," Greg sighed as he plopped himself wearily down onto the bed. Rolling over so that he was facing the ceiling, he let out another large sigh. "Who would've thought that you could use a snow blower at a crime scene?"

Sara snorted as she mimicked his actions on her bed. "Only if there's snow." The brunette closed her eyes as she lay across her pillow. "And there's never snow in Las Vegas."

"It could work on sand."

"No, because the weight of the sand and the physics are completely different and-"

Throwing a pillow at her, Greg pulled a face. "Save the speech, please. You have to give Grissom some points though; this stuff is all hands on."

"Yeah. Always wanted to learn how to use flour as fingerprint powder." Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she just hugged the pillow.

Hopping off the bed, Greg reached for the mini-fridge beside the television. "Want a soda?"

"No thanks."

He rummaged a bit longer, a thoughtful expression on his face. "And…ta-da! Look what I have," he pronounced proudly with a little flourish.

"Where did you get that?" she asked in confusion, forehead wrinkling. "I know for a fact that Grissom would not have given it to us as a going-away gift, let alone Grissom," Sara's mouth turned upwards into a smile as her friend produced a bottle of liquor.

"Compliments of Nick. You know how out west they love their whiskey."

Taking the bottle from Greg's hands, Sara read the bottle. "Kentucky Straight Bourbon whiskey. Never tried the stuff."

Greg widened his eyes in disbelief as he took it back. "You're telling me that you, greatest alcohol drinker of all time, have never tried Jim Beam? You're seriously skipping out, Sar," he teased.

Instead of the light-mood effect he was aiming for, a dark shadow fell over her face. Of course he conveniently forgot how she had gotten a DUI not too long ago…and why. Mentally smacking himself for his stupidity, Greg gave her one of his trademark goofy grins. "So, how about it, Sidle?"

She eyed the bottle cautiously, and then nodded. "I guess it won't hurt."

"Good," he grinned triumphantly as he got some shot glasses from inside the refrigerator. After pouring them each a shot, he gave her one. "Let's make this interesting. A game of I Never?"

Sara scoffed at the suggestion. "That's very overplayed, Greg. And believe me; you don't want to get into a game of that with me."

"Okay then. Truth or Dare?"

Leaning forward in her position on her bed, Sara tilted her head in interest. "With alcohol?" she said doubtfully.

"Yeah. With every truth asked the person getting the question takes a shot. And if one doesn't want to do a dare…they take a shot."

"Sounds good."

"Great! You're going down," he taunted cheerfully.

"We'll see about that."

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Six shots later, Greg was swallowing his words-literally. He was two shots up more on Sara, but thankfully it was her turn to be asked.

"Truth or dare, Sar?"

"Dare."

Greg closed his eyes to think. Opening his eyes after a moment, he smiled mischievously. "I dare you to run up and down the hallway on this floor."

"That's it?" his friend asked dubiously.

"No. Where's your suitcase?"

Watching him with narrowed eyes, she pointed to the floor beside her bed. "What's this about?" Sara questioned as he clumsily crawled over to where she was pointing.

Wordlessly opening the bag up, Greg began to sift through her belongings. After a moment and finding what he was searching for, the spiky-haired CSI pulled out a piece of her underwear. A silky black thong, to be precise. "And while you're doing it, wear this over your head."

"You've got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Sara loudly. Then to his surprise, she grabbed the thong and put it over her head. She must have been more buzzed than he figured. Ah, well. To his advantage anyway.

In a split second she was out of the hotel room, running full speed down one end of the hallway. On her way back, an elderly lady opened her room door and was knocked over by a pajama-clad Sara.

"Shame on you, acting so foolish!" the elderly lady shouted out as Sara hastily helped the lady to her feet. "Running cahoots all over the place with your knickers!"

Greg was rolling on the floor, laughing with tears in his eyes by the time Sara had managed to finish the feat. "Your ass deserves to be kicked, Sanders," Sara grumbled as she pulled the offending garment off her head and tossed it in the general direction of her luggage.

"That…was…priceless," her partner managed breathlessly through his giggles.

"Not fucking funny," she cursed as the elderly lady's irritating voice still rang through the hallway. "Truth or Dare?" she spat venomously as Greg wiped his eyes.

"Dare."

"Throw one of your shoes out the window and hit one of those cars in the parking lot. Then go down and get it."

"But we're on the sixth floor!"

"Exactly."

"What if I miss?"

"You'll have to throw the other one."

"And what if I miss that one?"

"Then I hope you have another pair of shoes. Now do it!" Sara barked, words beginning to slur as the alcohol took effect.

"Okay, okay." Stumbling over to his side of the room, Greg pulled out a pair of men's flip flops. "Hey, I thought we could visit the beach!" he defended himself as Sara let out a rather loud guffaw.

She shook her head in ill-concealed amusement. "In this weather?"

"Yeah. Well, here goes. Geronimo!" he yelled as he tossed the left shoe out the open window. When nothing happened, Greg poked his head out the window. "Damn it, I missed!"

"The other one, then."

The right shoe flew out the window, landing with a loud bang. One second later a screeching car horn told them he succeeded in his mission.

"Who threw that fucking shoe?" a voice shrieked from down below.

Greg gulped as Sara pushed towards the exit. "Don't forget, we're all crime scene investigators in this hotel. They'll haul your sorry ass to jail," she said a bit too gleefully. "Better go get it!"

Shit.


	3. Hula Hoop Exercises

"Alright folks, I know this isn't in the brochure, but we're going to do one team-building exercise before y'all head back home," the convention host announced from the stage. "Each crime lab will get a hula hoop." He held up a purple-spotted one as a demonstration.

Pairs of crime scene investigators sat in chairs around the ballroom converted into a rather large meeting room. Exchanging confused glances with their colleagues, they passed the colorful pile of hula hoops around until each pair had one. Greg and Sara received a rather bent Barbie-patterned one.

"Okay," Greg eyed the glittery pink piece of plastic with despair. "Why do we get the girly one?"

Elbowing him sharply in the ribs, Sara nodded her head towards the host. "Listen."

"One partner, put the hula hoop on the floor and step inside it." Greg did so, feeling extremely silly with the rest of the group.

"Then, partners, cross arms and hold hands." Everyone in the room complied. Sara felt a tiny spark of electricity run through them as she and Greg did so, and she resisted the urge to blush.

The host waited until everyone had followed his directions, and then clapped his hands loudly. "Lights off, please?"

Several people gasped in astonishment as all the hula-hoops began to glow in the darkness. The Las Vegas crime lab's hula hoop, of course, was glowing a bright fluorescent pink. "Great! Now…the object is to transfer the hula hoop to the other partner without lifting feet or breaking hands. Everyone got it? Good! Ready….set….go!"

In a mad clatter people began the exercise, some already falling over in their hurry. With great care, Sara used a finger to pick up the hula hoop, carrying it over Greg's head to their arms. Bending down, she shimmied the hoop over her head with the help of Greg. Luck have it, they were the first done.

"Congrats to the…to the…"

"Las Vegas crime lab," Greg helpfully supplied.

"Right. To the Las Vegas crime lab! You win…."

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**A/N: **I know turning off all the lights isn't exactly a blackout, but it's close, right? Anyway…guess what they win, and you get a Greg-shaped cookie! (It's incredibly easy to get it, since it's completely ridiculous. But for the sake of humor, humor me!)


	4. Chocolate Cheesecake Kiss

**A/N: **Most of you all said romantic dinner at a restaurant…and since it was close enough, you guys get a cookie . Enjoy (both the cookie and the last chapter!)

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"You know, when they said a fancy dinner for two, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"What's so wrong about a T-bone steak, mashed potatoes, and sweet corn?"

"The fact that I'm a vegetarian, Greg." She gestured to their surroundings. "And where we are."

"Right. I knew that." He grinned and pointed his fork over towards her plate. It was heaped with Caesar salad and garlic bread. "How can you eat only that? It's like rabbit food."

Sara gave him a half-hearted glare over their candlelight sticks and glasses of Pinot Noir. Not-quite-romantic music filtered in from the rather old radio sitting on the nightstand. A romantic dinner with the spiky-haired man's presence was unusually nerve-wracking tonight.

Not that it was awkward at all. Far from it, actually. If it could be considered a date-which they both secretly hoped-then it was the best that she had had for years. Unlike all the other men she had seen, Greg was comfortable to be with. Like a well-worn blanket that you just can't bear to throw away, even after it had begun to fade.

And they were matching opposites. They were both intelligent, she in the more academic forms and he in whatever oddball facts he stumbled upon. She was moody and mysterious; he was happy-go-lucky and open. There was not one thing she didn't love about him.

That very thought was a bit frightening.

"Y'alright, Sar?" Greg's face was one of concern, handing her a slice of chocolate cheesecake.

Breaking out of her reverie, the brunette gave him a genuine smile and nodded, taking the plate. "Just thinking, that's all."

"'Bout me? I'm touched," he joked with a lopsided grin. The radio switched to a more melancholy melody.

Sara laughed quietly a bit, rolling her eyes. "Too bad you don't have time to visit your family while we're here," she commented casually.

"Yeah, well I see them at least once a month anyway." Greg raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have family here?"

Instantly he knew it was the wrong question to ask, as the light in her eyes diminished and she tensed.

_She's taking her time making up the reasons_

_To justify all the hurt inside_

_Guess she knows from the smiles_

_And the look in their eyes_

_Everyone's got a theory about the bitter one_

_They're saying_

"I haven't kept in touch." Her tone was chilly, but he could hear the sadness in her words.

"Why not?" Greg pressed.

_Mama never loved her much_

_And daddy never keeps in touch_

_That's why she shies away from human affection_

_But somewhere in a private place_

_She packs her bags for outer space_

_And now she's waiting for_

_The right kind of pilot to come_

Freezing, Sara just looked at him, wide eyes searching for pity. If there was an emotion she hated the most, it was pity for her. Weakness, it was, giving people a reason to feel sorry. Not finding any of the dreaded feeling in him, she relaxed a bit.

"There's only my brother," she muttered. "And we don't talk anymore." Sighing, she set down her fork, and crossed her arms across her chest protectively. "My mom murdered my dad at our family's bed and breakfast when we were just kids." It all came rushed and breathless, and Greg could hardly understand what she said. But understand he did.

_I would fly you to the moon and back_

_If you'll be, if you'll be my baby_

_Got a ticket for a world where we belong_

_So, would you be my baby?_

Without another word he walked over and gave her a hug. His eyes betrayed his love for her as he felt the tears pricking out of her coffee eyes onto his shirt. Handing her a tissue, he smiled comfortingly. "You're ruining my shirt," teased Greg.

_She can't remember a time_

_When she felt needed_

_If love was red then she was color-blind_

_All her friends they've been trialed for treason_

_And crimes that were never defined_

She wiped her eyes and playfully glared. "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you and get away with it," Sara gave him a surprisingly tender kiss on the lips. "Thanks. I owe you one."

Greg laughed, a brilliant grin gracing his face. Returning the kiss, his grin grew wider against her mouth. "How about that tattoo?"

He grimaced as her elbow made contact with his ribs.

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End file.
